


10 Days

by immoralq



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, Hospital Sex, M/M, but please be gentle 'cause i'm out of the habit, first story in a very long time, semi-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoralq/pseuds/immoralq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a hunt, Dean's in a car accident and ends up in hospital.  His cell-er-ward mate is a weird, dorky little guy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Days 1 to 5

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a long time since I've written anything, a long time as in decades. No, I kid you not. I haven't written slash since the 1990's. But there was this discussion on Tumblr that prompted this and it wouldn't leave my brain alone. 
> 
> Hopefully, I've got Cas and Dean in character and you'll enjoy.

**Day 1**

Dean groans and tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids feel heavy and he struggles to make them lift. His mouth feels like he’s been eating sawdust and his entire body is pulling him back down into sleep. He’s too weak to fight it, and he sinks back into the blackness.

**Day 2**

This time, when he tries to open his eyes, he manages a small crack and bright light floods his retinas, causing him to instantly close the crack. His mouth still feels like it’s full of sawdust, but this time he hears a noise, a beeping, just on the edge of his consciousness.

He tries to open his eyes again and, just as he does, a blurred shape fills his field of vision and he hears a faraway voice ask, “Dean?”

**Day 3**

He opens his eyes completely, but this time there’s no bright light. It’s dim and quiet, except for the beeping noise, which he recognises is matching his heartbeat. He sees a fuzzy shape close by and blinks to clear his vision. It’s Sam, asleep in a chair.

He looks around, awareness returning quickly. He takes in the machines, the curtains, the large window. Feels the stiff sheets and the scratchy blanket. Right. He’s in hospital and that’s Sam asleep in a not-very-comfortable-looking chair, his head skewed at an angle guaranteed to mean his neck will be stiff and painful when he wakes up.

Dean’s still exhausted and, as he watches the rise and fall of Sammy’s chest, he sleeps again.

**Day 4**

When he wakes, it’s bright again and he can get a better look at his surroundings. There’s the window to left, the chair that Sammy was sleeping in empty underneath it. To his right, there’s a privacy curtain and he must be in a shared room because he can hear soft snoring and it isn’t his brother’s.

The curtain moves and Sammy’s there, a cup of coffee clutched in one hand, looking like he hasn’t slept in a week.

Dean grins and greets him, “Hey, Sammy.” His voice sounds horrible, but at least the sawdust taste isn’t as strong as it was. He has a wicked headache, though. His head’s pounding like big dudes with jackhammers are attacking his skull.

“Dean! You’re awake!” His brother’s face lights up in a big grin and he immediately reaches for a hug.

Dean winces at the shout, sits up as best he can and returns the hug, coughing as he does so. Sam pulls away and, looking a bit guilty, reaches for the jug and cup that are one the bedside table. He pours a glass, sticks in a straw, and holds it for Dean to drink.

The cool water feels like heaven on his dry and sawdusty mouth. He swallows as much as he can and lies back when he’s finished, nodding his thanks to Sam

“I have to tell the nurses you’re awake,” Sam babbles, and practically sprints from the room, still holding the cup of water.

About five minutes later, Sammy comes back, trailing three women behind him. One of them steps up to his bed, pulls out a penlight and says, “Nice to see you awake, Mr Black. Your brother has been very worried about you. I’m Doctor Valentine,” as she flashes the penlight in his eyes. “If you know any jokes, please refrain from telling them to me – I’ve heard them all.” Then she lifts her stethoscope from around her neck and listens to his heartbeat. He takes a deep breath before she can ask, knowing the drill well. He lets it out slowly and she smiles, quirking her eyebrows in amusement. “Been in hospital a lot, have we, Mr Winchester?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate, because 1. You don’t talk about hunting to non-hunters and 2. She wouldn’t believe him anyway, and probably call for a psych eval. He loathes shrinks.

“Do you remember what happened? How you ended up here?” she asks.

“Car crash.” Some moron had run the light. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing how his baby looked. She wasn’t going to be pretty and, if Dean ever found out who the other driver was, that moron was in deep shit.

She puts the stethoscope back around her neck and then puts the blood pressure cuff around his arm. It tightens, the releases, and she frowns at the result.

‘Your blood pressure is a little high, but your pupillary response is normal, your heart sounds fine, you seem cognizant of your surroundings and you remember your accident, so I don’t think there’s any lasting damage. I’m going to order an MRI just to be on the safe side and if that shows no problems, you can go home in a week or so.”

Dean does a little internal happy dance, because being in hospital just sucks and knowing he isn’t going to have to stay in this one long is a very good thing.

“You were very lucky, Mr Winchester. It could’ve been a lot worse,” Doctor Valentine smiles at him and he knows he could be in with a chance there but he’s just too tired, so he smiles weakly back and winces.

“Headache?” she asks and he nods, wincing again. He’d let the tests and the questions distract him from the pain but it was back again.

Doctor Valentine turned to one of the other women and said, “Karen, would you give Mr. Winchester two Tylenol now, please. He can have another two at the standard interval if his headache hasn’t eased up.”

“Yes, Doctor,” said one of the nurses, a pretty blonde with a cheery smile.

“And Jenny? I’ll leave you to remove the catheter and help Mr. Winchester to the facilities. We want him up and moving around as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Doctor,” said the other nurse. She was a brunette and gave off the comforting air of a sensible and competent motherly type. Which was reassuring to Dean ‘cause he sure didn’t want the hot blonde messing around with his private parts. At least, not in a hospital when he wasn’t up to fully participating.

“Okay, Mr. Winchester, I’ll schedule you in for your MRI and leave you in the capable hands of Karen and Jenny. If you have any questions, just ask them to page me.”

And with that, she bustled off, presumably to see other patients. Dean watched her go, admiring the way her pants outlined her lovely ass.

Then he looked up at Jenny and winced again as she smiled and said brightly, “Time to get that catheter out, Mr. Winchester.”

He hears chortling and looks for Sammy, who’s been standing by the privacy curtain the whole time, listening quietly. The bastard catches his eye and smirks.

**Day 5**

Dean is bored, bored, bored. Now that he’s out of the woods, he made Sammy go back to their motel. The poor kid looked like he needed to sleep for a week and, truth be told, Dean wasn’t in much better shape. He made it clear Sammy was to stay away for at least two days, get some proper food in him and have a shower.

Dean fell asleep right after he left, and stayed asleep for the whole night (he’s slept more in this hospital than he has in the last two decades or so), but he feels a lot better now and, after a really gross breakfast consisting of oatmeal, toast, fruit and milk (no coffee! No bacon!), he’s just really bored.

“Bored, bored, bored, bored,” he starts chanting under his breath, out of sheer boredom. He needs his walkman, or his laptop, or a copy of Busty Asian Beauties or he’d even settle for reading a goddamn _book_.

“I am feeling restless as well. Perhaps you would care to engage in conversation?” a voice asks and Dean jumps at the sound.

The privacy curtain is pulled aside and, oh yeah, Dean forgot he had a roommate. A weird little dork of a guy, by the looks of him. He’s wearing navy blue pyjamas, instead of the ubiquitous hospital gown that shows off Dean’s ass every time he goes to the john, and has black hair mussed in the most spectacular case of bed head Dean’s ever since (and Sammy’s hair has done some really _weird_ things after a night in a motel bed).

He also has the most, and Dean can’t believe he’s even thinking this, _beautiful_ eyes that Dean has ever seen. They’re crystal blue and shining with intelligence. He can’t help himself, he gets lost in those eyes, imagining if they’d turn darker with arousal.

“Are you alright?”

Abandoning his thoughts about the guy’s eyes, Dean smiles and says, “Yup. Mostly.”

“So would you like to engage in conversation?”

Dean thinks conversation is not all he’d like to engage this guy in, but says out loud, “We already are, aren’t we?”

The guy looks thoughtful, then nods and says, “I believe you are right.”

Dean sticks out his hand and says, “Dean Winchester, nice to meetcha.”

“Castiel Novak,” the weird dork says, gripping Dean’s hand firmly.

As soon as their hands touch, it’s like a storm erupts inside Dean. Like….lighting and thunder and his heart starts pounding and his chest tightens and, shit, this has _never_ happened to him before. This is the kind of thing that happens in those girly romances Sammy’s always reading.

He smiles, though, hoping it conceals the heat in his gut and Castiel gives him a small smile in return.

“Castiel, huh? That’s an….interesting name.” Dean’s trying very hard to be polite and not says it’s weird as all fuck.

“It’s a variation of ‘Cassiel’, the Angel of Thursday,” Castiel explains. “My family is very religious. All my siblings are named for angels.”

“Yeah? For real?” Dean is intrigued. “How many, uh, siblings do you have?”

“I’m the youngest of 10.”

“Ten? Holy shit! I’ve just got the one brother, Sammy. Didja see him here? He’s like a sasquatch.”

“I did make the acquaintance of Sam. He was very worried about you. Talking to me seemed to help.”

“Oh, well, that’s good,” he says lamely, because what else is there to say? He knows how much Sammy worries about him when he gets hurt. He’s used to Dean protecting _him_ , worrying about _him_ , ‘cause that’s the way it’s always been. And Dean hates making Sam worry.

“So,” he continues, “what are their names?”

Castiel looks confused, so Dean clarifies, “Your siblings, what’re their names?”

“Oh,” the confused look disappears and Castiel smiles again, and boy does that smile light up those blue, blue eyes. _Blue, blue, eyes._ Dean snorts to himself – that could be the name of a country song.

“Well, there’s Michael, he’s the oldest. Then Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Samael, Jophiel, Anael, Lucifer and Zadkiel.”

“Dude, you have a brother named Lucifer? He must have copped some shit when he went to school.”

“We were all home-schooled, actually.”

“You never went to school?” Dean can’t believe it. Even pretty much living on the road, him and Sammy always went to school.

“Well, Cas, I gotta say – sounds like you’ve got kind of a weird family.”

“’Cas’?” Castiel looked surprised.

“Yeah, um,” Dean lowered his head, blushing slightly. “’Castiel’ is kind of a mouthful. D’you mind?”

This time the smile is bigger and it lights up his whole face. “I never had a nickname before,” Castiel pauses for a moment, then adds firmly, “I don’t think I’d like anyone but you to call me that.”

Dean blushes.


	2. Days 6 - 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean have some interesting conversations and Sam is awesome.

**Day 6**

“C’mon, man, you’ve never seen Star Wars? You are joking, right?”

Castiel can’t understand Dean’s bewilderment. Surely there are movies that Dean hasn’t seen? What’s so important about this Star Wars? “

I know about the whole religious family thing, but did you grow up on a farm miles away from anywhere, too?”

“Yes.”

Dean pauses for a moment and Castiel sees his chest inflate as he takes a deep breath.

“Seriously?”

Dean’s scepticism is a trifle annoying. Why bother to ask question if you won’t believe the answers? But Castiel knows, now, that his upbringing was hardly typical, so he answers anyway.

“I told you my parents were very religious, but they were also set on being self-sufficient as much as possible. We had a farm, we grew our own food, reared our own animals for meat and milk and lived quite well.”

“What about, y’know, watching t.v., or playing Nintendo?”

“We didn’t have a television, we had a radio. We listened to music, read books and played games for entertainment. My parents didn’t believe in letting children spend their free time staring at screens.”

“Christ, at least tell me you had electricity and plumbing, man.” Dean seems quite shocked at Castiel’s upbringing, and hastens to assure him, “Yes, of course we had electricity. And an indoor toilet. My parents wanted self-sufficiency, but my mother liked basic creature comforts.”

Dean shakes his head in sympathy. “Man, no Star Wars – that totally bites.”

“Dean, I do not feel as if I have missed out on anything by not watching this ‘Star Wars’,” Castiel points out.

Dean just shrugs and then smiles.  Castiel loves to see Dean smile. It lights up his beautiful green eyes and it’s so easy, so _natural_. Dean is cheerful and optimistic, in spite of his situation.

And Dean _cares_ so, especially about his brother. Castiel had listened as Dean gently, but firmly, kicked his brother out of the hospital to get some rest, and he approved. Sam was clearly exhausted and, even though Dean was still recovering from a bad trauma, he put his brother first.

He had also seemed genuinely concerned after Castiel had told him the reason he was in hospital. He had asked a lot of questions, worrying, until Castiel had reassured him that the operation had been a success and there were no side effects.

Dean wears his heart on his sleeve and Castiel feels privileged so see it so clearly.

“Yeah, ‘Cas, but you kinda have. You’ve missed out on a lot of things, I think.”

“I haven’t,” Castiel reassures him. “My parents were loving, I had clean clothes, warmth, a bed to sleep in, brothers and a sister to play with and food in my belly. I had books to read and music to listen to and wide open spaces in which to run. I had trees to climb, fruit to pick, and a stream to fish and swim in.”

He pauses, noting the understanding that’s slowly dawning on Dean’s face, and continues. “I can milk a cow, shear a sheep, spin wool, knit and sew clothing, make bread and jams and pickles and even bake a fairly good apple pie.”

Dean’s eyes bug out of his head at the last item and he asks, a little disbelievingly, “Pie? You can make apple pie?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s smile is _radiant_. “Apple pie is my favourite.”

“Ah, I see. Then perhaps I shall bake you one, when we are released from this facility.”

“Dude, you make sound it we’re trapped here.”

“I do not like hospitals.”

“Me neither,” said Dean, and they share another smile.

“Perhaps…” Castiel is hesitant, because he’s never been good at this. Perhaps being home-schooled did have its disadvantages in that he never learned to relate to his peers. He clears his throat and tries again.

“Perhaps…we might watch Star Wars whilst we eat our pie?”

The suggestion is clearly a good idea, because Dean’s smile becomes even bigger, if that’s possible, and the flush on his cheeks makes his freckles stand out and Castiel wants to kiss every one of those little dots and maybe map them with his tongue and…

“That’s a great idea, Cas! When’re you getting out of here?”

“My operation was a minor one. I am leaving in two days.”

Dean’s face falls and Castiel is glad, in a way, because it’s nice that Dean likes him enough to miss him. But he doesn’t like Dean to be sad, so he adds, “I will leave you my telephone number and you can call me when you are released.”

Dean’s face brightens and the tightness in his chest (that Castiel hadn’t even noticed he had) loosened at the sight of those beautiful green eyes smiling again.

“That would be awesome, Cas. Pie, Star Wars and you. All the best things in the world.”

Castiel feels the heat in his cheeks, and knows he’s blushing.

**Day 7**

Dean is bored again. He’s having his MRI, and he has to stay still and he’s just not good at staying still. The technician had explained to him that, because the machine was an older model, it might take as long as 40 minutes to complete the scan and he needed to stay absolutely still.

He was also asked if he suffered from claustrophobia, which he didn’t, but it still felt a bit like a scene from a sci-fi movie when he lay down on the bed and it moved him up into the tunnel thing. It was just a little…unnerving.

So, he was bored, bored, bored. AGAIN. Someone had put stickers on the inside of the tunnel thing, so he at least had something to look at, but there was only so much time he could stand looking at ‘My Little Pony’, ‘Transformers’ and Disney stickers. He actually kinda wished he could’ve taken a pen in with him – he could have drawn something more interesting.

Like Cas’s eyes, maybe. Heh. He wouldn’t be bored if Cas was here. He could talk to Cas about random shit and Cas would just listen. Or he’d respond in that dry, deadpan manner of his, with that gravely voice that just drove Dean nuts.

Actually, Dean was pretty sure that Cas would be able to get him off just with his voice. Hmmm. Maybe, if the Star Wars and pie date went well, he’d get a chance to find out. He was picking up the signals that Cas might be into him and he’d been into Cas as soon as he looked into those blue, blue eyes.

Yep, there he went again, practically composing country songs in his head. Well, Cas kinda looked like he dropped out of a country song sometimes. With those blue, blue eyes and that spectacularly tousled hair and that five o’clock shadow that somehow made him look even more handsome instead of scruffy. And that voice of his, that smooth, deep voice that sounded like he’d been gargling with Gentleman Jack

He just needed a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans and maybe some chaps and, hang on, since when had he had a thing for cowboys? Did he have a thing for cowboys, or did he just have a thing for Cas? Time to try an experiment. He _was_ still bored after all.

Right, now, ditch the cowboy Cas image and let’s try….soldier Cas. Fatigues, combat boots, one of those utility belts….nice. But being in the army would mean Cas would have to shave his head, and Cas without the hair just wasn’t right. What about…roman senator Cas? Oh, yeah, one of those short tunic things and sandals with the straps going up his legs and that hair would fit right in. Nice. But what about roman army soldier Cas? Same short tunic thing, but add in the leather armour and the shield and the sword and Cas would be hot _and_ badass.

Dean was aware that he was getting hard, but even getting hard was better than being _bored,_ so he kept on right on fantasising. What about angel Cas? Oh, yeah, now that would be awesome. Big wings that stretched from his shoulders to the ground, all soft and feathery. But not white. White was boring. Black wings, but black that was blue too. Midnight blue. Yeah. No halo, though. And no harp. Just a blade, like a dagger with some kind of fancy hilt and Cas would be so badass.

Okay, he decided. He didn’t just have a Cas thing, he had a _badass_ Cas thing, if his imagination was anything to go by. They were just fantasies, though. Cas didn’t seem like a guy who could fight, so no making the fantasies a reality. Oh, who was he kidding? He’d take Cas anyway he could get him, badass or not.

“Okay, Mr. Winchester, we’re done. Let’s get you out of there.”

Dean blinked and wondered what the fuck he was doing. First off, imagining Cas in costumes was just plain weird (and hadn’t happened to him before) and secondly, he didn’t even _know_ if Cas was interested in him anyway. Sure, he thought he was picking up some signals, but his gaydar had never actually _worked_. He only knew if a guy was interested if they made the first move.

“The doc’ll be by to talk about the results with you later,” the tech told him as he was helped off the sliding bed thingy and into a wheelchair by a nurse.

“Okay, man, thanks.” Dean grinned and gave the dude a salute as he was wheeled away.

One elevator ride and several corridors later and he was back in his room. Sammy was there, talking to Cas, but they stopped and watched whilst the nurse helped Dean back onto the bed. All the while Dean was acutely aware that the damn hospital gown was showing off his butt again and Cas was getting an eyeful. Of course, Sammy was too, but Sammy’d seen much, much worse. A childhood spent sharing motel rooms didn’t leave you much of a sense of modesty – or privacy, really.

“Is everything okay, Dean?” Sammy asked. Dean could tell he was freaking out a little internally, ‘cause he had that look in his eyes, the one Dean hated to see. He’d seen it when Dad had gotten sick, when Sammy had been waiting to find out if he’d gotten into Stanford and when Jessica had nearly died in a fire.

“I won’t know ‘til I see the doc’ this afternoon, Sammy. I think everything’s good, though.” Dean tried to reassure his brother.

“I also believe Dean is well, Sam.” Cas was a sober and solemn as ever and, somehow, that seemed to reassure Sam. It kind of reassured Dean, too. He was pretty sure everything was fine and the doctor was just being cautious, probably ‘cause she didn’t want to get sued if something happened.

He said as much to the both of them and Cas frowned as if he disapproved of Dean’s cynicism. “I’m sure the doctor just wants to make sure everything is alright, Dean. She is a caring person.”

“Yeah, Cas, I get that. I just….” He trailed off, frowning. “Anyway, Sammy, how’re you?”

Sam, the little fucker, smirks like he knows exactly what Dean’s doing (because he does, Dean’s the master of quick changes of subject), but plays along anyway, because he’s awesome like that.

“I’m good, Dean. I had a shower and slept for about 14 hours and I’m good as new.”

“You do indeed look much improved, Sam.”

“Thanks, Castiel.”

And that’s kind of jarring, Sam calling him that. ‘Cause Cas is just Cas, he isn’t _Castiel_ at all. Not in Dean’s mind, anyway.

“Your hair is cleaner, your face is not so haggard and you no longer smell bad. You are definitely improved.”

The look on Sam’s face is _precious_. Where was a camera when you needed one? This is the sort of shit that needs to be captured for posterity.

“Uh, yeah, thanks, Castiel.”

Dean’s full on smirking now, enjoying it, because payback’s a bitch. Sam should’ve keep quiet about the catheter.

“Jerk,” Sam glares at Dean.

“Bitch,” Dean returns amiably.

Castiel is looking back and forth at them like he’s watching a tennis match, this puzzled look on his face like he’s not quite sure what’s going on and could someone explain now please?

Sam notices, and reassures him, “Don’t worry, Castiel. Dean and I,” he makes a back-and-forth gesture with his hand, “This is how we communicate. Dean’s too emotionally constipated to actually say anything, so he uses insults instead.”

“Hey!” Dean protests, because that’s totally not fair. Just because he doesn’t do girly-girly feelings talk. What did Sam want? A hair-braiding session over margaritas?

“I believe I understand, Sam. I, however, find Dean easy to communicate with, even if I do not understand some of the references he makes to popular culture.”

Dean pokes his tongue out at Sammy, turns to Cas, smiles, and says, “Thanks, Cas!”

Sam’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Cas? That’s the second time you’ve called him that, Dean. What’s that about?”

“It is a shortened form of my name,” Castiel intercedes before Dean can answer. “I have never had a nickname before. I find I like it when Dean addresses me by it.”

“Oh.”

Dean can feel himself blushing, but he’s grinning like a loon at the same time.

They talk like that for another few hours, and then the orderly comes in with their lunch and Sam excuses himself to go and eat himself, teasing Dean on the way out, “I was thinking of grabbing a bacon cheeseburger at the diner down the street.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Castiel looks up from his lunch and says, “I’m sure Sam would bring you a burger if he’s getting one for himself.”

Dean grins and waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, he’s just being his usual little bitch self and teasin’ me. He doesn’t eat burgers. He eats all that organic _green_ stuff.”

Castiel looks confused. “Y’know,” Dean clarifies. “Vegetables and salad and all that healthy shit. No preservatives or additives or sugar or any of that stuff. He eats like a freaking rabbit, Cas’.”

“Ah,” Cas nods his head, understanding. “Sam has a good diet. No wonder he is so tall.”

“Hey!” Dean’s a bit outraged at that, but then he catches one side of Cas’s mouth twitching up in what passes for his version of a smile and Dean knows he’s being wound up.

He grins at Cas and then pays attention to his lunch. Not that it’s very appetising – hospital food never is. But he’s hungry and so it’ll have to do.

Cas and he spend a quiet afternoon playing cards. Dean teaches Cas poker because, hey, if the term ‘poker face’ could ever be applied, for _real_ , to a person, that person is definitely Cas. The dude can make his face seem like it’s carved of _stone_.

Which is badass. Yep, badass Cas. No, no, no, Winchester, he tells himself firmly. No erections in front of said badass.

Doctor Valentine comes back in the middle of a hand and she’s even sexier now that Dean isn’t suffering from a massive headache and can actually appreciate what he sees.

Another doctor, this one carrying a clipboard, comes in a few seconds later and says “hello” to Cas before pulling the privacy curtain, He can hear them speaking quietly and hopes, for Cas’s sake, that the news is good.

 _His_ news is most definitely good. Dean had made Sam stay away for this, just in case. If it was not-good news, he needed to deal with it himself first. But nope, all is good. The doc had chatted with MRI tech guy and they both agreed all was well. No weird shit going on with his brain – at least, none caused by the accident.

“So,” she smiles at him. “You can leave in another two days, Mr. Wiinchester.”

Because it’s him, and he’s had good news, Dean can’t help but give her a flirty smile. “Thanks, Doc.”

She smiles back and Dean decides to try his luck. After all, Cas is probably straight and the doc is hot and Sam says you can’t let what _might_ be interfere with what is, which Dean thinks he understands (Sam says a lot of weird shit) so he asks, “Want to help celebrate my release with a coffee?”

She smiles again and reaches into her scrubs top to pull out a gold chain. It’s threaded through a ring, so her answer of, “Only if we invite my wife along,” doesn’t really surprise. Well, the wife part kind of does, but only a little. Hey, he’s growing up!

“Sure,” he replies, easily. She looks a little surprised by that. “I’ll see you in two days for a last check-up, Mr Winchester.”

She pulls back the privacy curtain and leaves. Cas is still in with his doctor so Dean resigns himself to being bored. He could dig out the pack of cards again, but he’s not in the mood for Patience. He just really wants to know how Cas is doing.

Then the privacy curtain is pulled aside and the doc shakes Cas’s hand and leaves, nodding at Dean as he leaves.

“So, Cas? What’s goin’ on?"

Cas looks solemn and he answers, “I have been given a clean bill of health, Dean. I am being discharged tomorrow.”

“That’s….that’s great, Cas. Really. Great.”

It’s really not, but what is he supposed to say? He can’t exactly demand Cas stay in hospital two more days just to save Dean from boredom in a place that passes as perdition. He could probably check himself out early, but he knows what Cas would say to that. “You need to rest, Dean. Look after yourself and make sure you are in the best health for when you leave.” Yep, Dean can hear it as clear as if Cas was sayin’ it.

He’s so preoccupied with his misery that nearly doesn’t hear Cas actually say quietly, “I will miss you too, Dean.”

**Day 8**

The next morning, the privacy curtain is back around Cas’s bed and Dean can hear the sound of clothing rustling. He wonders what Cas looks like in clothes (he’s already had several highly detailed dreams about what Cas looks like _out_ of clothes, including one last night that was just…yeah, leave it alone, Winchester) and remembers those fantasies from the MRI scan and really, really hopes Cas isn’t wearing army fatigues ‘cause he’d blow his load right there and then if that happens.

The curtain is pulled aside and Dean stares. Huh. Well, of all the things his dirty mind had conjured up, this wasn’t one of them. Cas is dressed in a navy blue suit, with a black tie over a white dress shirt. As Dean watches, he puts a tan trench coat on over top of the suit.

It all adds up to Dean’s first impression of him – a weird, dorky little guy. But, somehow, it kinda works. Cas makes it look good. The blue makes his hair blacker and his eyes…oh, man, those friggin’ blue, blue eyes…

“Dean?” Cas sounds concerned. “Dean, are you well?”

Dean sighs and thinks to himself, fuck it. Dude’s leaving anyway, probably not going to see him again, so what does it matter? He looks at Cas, sees the concern, the worry, and just says what’s been on his mind since the first time their eyes met.

“Cas, you’re as sexy all fuck and I want you bad.” He takes a deep breath. “Goddamn it!”

Cas’s eyes widen and Dean barely has time to think, ‘Crap, that’s gone and done it.’, before his eyes narrow again and he fists one hand into the front of Dean’s hospital and drags him bodily into their bathroom.

“Cas, what’s-“ Dean manages to get out before he’s pushed up against the bathroom wall and Cas’s _lips_ are on him. Oh, holy fuck, Cas’s lips are on him! Cas is _kissing_ him! And there’s nothing Dean can do except reach up and tangle his fingers into that messy black hair and hold on for dear life, because _damn_ Cas knows how to kiss.

It’s hard and rough and messy and frantic and their tongues are tangling together and their teeth knock once or twice and Dean’s sure he’s bitten Cas’s bottom lip because he tastes blood and then Cas starts grinding into him and, _oh…oh, hell, yeah!_

He feels Cas’s hands grab the bottom of the damn hospital gown and yank it up and the sensation of cool air on his bare flesh is nice, but it doesn’t last because somehow Cas has got his own pants undone and there’s a hard cock pressing against his and the friction is _incredible._

He’s thrusting up to meet every stroke, pushing and grinding and it’s fucking amazing and then Cas is sliding to his knees and Dean’s engulfed in warm, wet heat.

“Fuck!” His head hits the wall as Cas swallows him down. His hands are still fisted in that messy black hair and he tries not to tug, not to pull, and he looks down and those blue, blue eyes look up and meet his and it’s just _mind-blowingly hot._

Cas pulls back and sucks hard on the head, then swallows him all the way back down. He does it again, and again, and the alternating rhythm and pressure is driving Dean wild. He goes down all the way and then… _then_ Dean feels his balls being gently lifted as first one, and then the other, are sucked into that hot, wet and talented mouth.

It’s too much, and Dean just has time to shout a warning, “Cas! I’m gonna-“ before he’s coming, shooting his load into Cas’s. Cas swallows every last drop and keeps sucking, drawing out the orgasm and making him pant.

He stops just at the point where pleasure is about to become pain and looks up at Dean, his expression serious, but with this air of smugness too. Of course, Cas’s got a right to be smug and he’ll find a way to be annoyed at that when he finds his brains.

Cas gets to his face, leans in, and they’re kissing again. Just gently, which surprises Dean. Little, quick pecks punctuated by long, slow swipes of their tongues. It’s lazy and delicious and hell if Dean isn’t getting hard _again, oh holy shit._

There’s no urgency this time, so Dean just pulls Cas in close and wraps a hand around both of them and listens to the soft gasps that Cas makes as Dean’s hand works them. He pumps slowly, up and down, twisting his hand and drawing more of those gasps out of that amazing mouth.

Cas comes with a loud, breathy moan, dropping his head onto Dean’s shoulder, and Dean grunts and comes again, his hand coated with their combined spunk and, even though it’s not as mind-blowing as the first one, it’s still an awesome orgasm and he thinks it wouldn’t be half as awesome if Cas weren’t involved.

Cas is a dead weight against him, head cradled on Dean’s shoulder, nose buried in the crook of his neck. His breath is coming in short gasps against Dean’s ear. He nuzzles into the messy hair and tries to gather his thoughts.

“Cas, you okay?”

He feels Cas nod, so he says, “That was…I’ll think of a word when my brain starts working again, ‘kay?”

Another nod.

Dean smiles, tightening his gip around Cas and just enjoying the moment.

**Day 9**

Dean is bored again. Cas is gone and I’m bored. Cas is gone and I’m bored. Cas is gone and I’m bored.

The thought goes round and round in his head. Cas is gone and I’m bored. Cas is gone and I’m bored. Cas is gone….and I miss him.

He bashes his head back against his pillow in frustration. For frick’s sake, he’s known the guy for less than a week! It’s ridiculous to miss him this much. ‘Cause missing him this much probably means Dean has _feelings_ and he doesn’t do _feelings._

Luckily for him, Sam turns up to stop him having to think about feelings. Except he doesn’t, because he forgot Sam’s a giant _girl_ stuck in the body of an overgrown moose.

“Hey, bitch.”

“Hey, jerk. How’re you doing? What did the doctor say?”

“Everything’s good, Sammy. Nothin’ wrong with my brain and I can get outta here tomorrow. “

Sammy looks relieved and Dean can’t blame him. It probably wasn’t fair, making the moose stay away while he got the results, and he’d probably spent yesterday worrying, but the news was as good as Dean had known it would be. He’d told Sammy everything would be alright – it wasn’t his fault the kid was a big bag of girly emotions.

“Huh.” Sam’s contemplative (See? He even learned something – picked up $10 words from Cas…. _Cas…_ ) and he pauses before he continues, “I honestly thought they would’ve found something, Dean.”

Oh, yeah, Dean knows where this is going, because it’s Sammy and he’d probably do the same if their places were switched; hell, it’s almost _too_ easy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The crap that comes out of your mouth? I thought for sure there was something wrong with your brain.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“Serioudly, dude, are you really okay?” Dean sighs. “Yup, it’s all good.”

Sam studies him for a moment. “Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I call bullshit, Dean.” Sam’s got his panties in a twist about something so Dean just waits for his brother to elaborate (okay, that’s only a $5 dollar word, but still, being around Cas has kind of improved his English skills.)

“You might be okay physically, but something’s eating at you.”

Dean starts to protest and Sam interrupts, “I’m your brother, dude. Stow it and save it. I can see right through you.”

“Man, don’t go all chick-flick on me, Sammy. You know I don’t do the feelings thing.” Dean’s practically whining, giving Sam the puppy dog eyes, but his brother is immune, which is so freaking _unfair_.

“You have feelings, Dean. It’s part of being human. You have to learn how to deal with them. So spill – now.”

He glares at Sam and then says, “I kind of made out with Cas.”

Sam whistles, long and loud, “That was fast, even for you.”

“Dude, are you not listening to me. I made out with Cas!”

“Dude, I heard you the first time. You mad out with Cas. So what?”

‘So what?’ Dean can’t believe his ears. He tells his little brother that he made out with Cas, who’s a guy in case Sam hasn’t noticed, and all Sam’s got to say is, ‘So what?’ What the actual fuck?

“Oh, I’m sorry, Dean.” Sam’s voice is just _dripping_ sarcasm. “Did you want me to freak out? I guess I can do that, if it’ll make you happy.”

Sam practically leaps out of his chair and starts flapping his hands and pretending to hyperventilate and shouting, “Oh, my god, my brother’s made out with a man!” in between all the gasping.

Dean just stares as this goes on for a couple of minutes, before Sam drops back down into the chair, heaving a huge sigh. “Man, that was hard. Was that enough melodrama for you, or do you want me to do it again?”

Dean opens his mouth to reply and gets interrupted. “If you do, I’m going to need about 10 minutes to catch my breath.”

Sam’s grinning all over his smirky face, the shit, so Dean just smiles and says, “Nah, I’m good.”

“Good.”

He really is lucky. His brother is so awesome in so many ways. He’s a complete dick in so many ways, too, but mostly awesome.

“Where is Castiel, anyway?”

“He got released yesterday.”

“Ah,” Sam nods sagely, “So he’s the reason you’re in this funk.”

“I’m not in a funk.”

“Yeah, you are, Dean. You like this guy. As in, like like this guy. As in, have gushy, mushy feelings for him and sex feelings-“

Sam stops and Dean glares. “Do not mention ‘sex’ and ‘Cas’ in the same sentence again. Ever.”

Sam shudders and agrees. “Fair. Thinking about you and he-who-I-shall-not-name having sex is just creepy.”

Dean thinks he should maybe be insulted by that, but yeah, point. He doesn’t want to think about Sam having sex either. Just no, not at all, not ever.

“So, what’s really the problem, Dean? You suddenly discovering you’re bisexual? Happens to a lot of people. You making out with Cas? If you want him and he wants you, then why not? Or is it the feelings thing you’re having trouble with?”

Dean mutters, “The feelings thing.”

“What was that?” Sam puts his hand up to his ear and leans in to Dean. What a bitch. “Would you mind repeating that, I didn’t quite hear you.”

“The feelings thing, okay?” Dean shouts.

All their shouting must have attracted some attention, because a nurse sticks her head around the door and asks, “Is everything alright in here?”

Dean and Sam reassure her that everything’s fine.

“Okay, then, but keep the noise down, please. This is a hospital, not a rock concert.”

Dean would so rather be at a rock concert, instead of talking to Sammy about his feelings, but he doesn’t get to escape til tomorrow, so he’ll have to suffer.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Sam sighs and rubs his face in this hands before he stares at Dean with his serious face. “Dean, do you love him?”

“I…shit. Yeah, Sammy, I think I do.”

It takes a lot for Dean to admit it out loud, but he can’t put it off in the face of Sam’s determination to have the feelings talk.

“Have you told him?”

“Fuck, no! We just…I just…” Why was this so goddamn difficult? “Look, we made out in the bathroom yesterday, and then he said goodbye and left, okay? What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, hey, I know you hate hospitals, but could you stick around a couple more days ‘cause I think I love you and I’ll miss you.’ Dude, I don’t know how to say shit like that!”

“You said it to me just fine.”

“That’s different. And how do I know what he…I mean, if he….he’s a guy, just like me. He may have just taken the opportunity, y’know? He was leaving anyway, may as well get a handjob out of it.”

Even as he’s saying it, Dean knows that isn’t true. Cas wasn’t the casual, love-‘em and leave-‘em type. It didn’t fit. But still, all he’d say was goodbye and walked out the door?

“I can’t deal with this shit.” Dean buries his head in his pillow, deciding to wallow in his manly misery. “He didn’t even leave me his number. He promised me pie, but he didn’t leave me his number.” He doesn’t like uncertainty. He likes to know where he stands, and it’s like Cas has left him on the edge of a cliff with one foot hanging over the edge.

“We’ll find him, Dean,” Sam is obnoxiously cheerful. “How many Castiel’s can there be in the phone book? And when we do, we’ll call, and you’ll tell him how you feel and then you’ll ask him how he feels and take it from there.”

Dean lifts face out of his pillows and looks straight into his brother’s eyes, “You think it’s that easy, huh, Sammy?”

“Dean, only you would make it hard, ‘cause for some reason I can’t fucking understand, you don’t think it’s worth it isn’t hard.”

Oh, yeah, too easy.

“Sammy, it doesn’t work if it isn’t hard.” Dean smiles lasciviously.

Sam opens his mouth to say something and then the penny drops and he gets it.

“You jerk.”

“Bitch.”

**Day 10**

After another hideously disgusting breakfast – still no bacon or coffee, the dicks! – Dean’s itching to get moving. All this enforced bed rest has left him twitchy. He needs to feel his baby’s steering wheel in his hands while he blasts Zeppelin on the stereo and see the road stretching ahead, black tarmac smooth under her wheels.

He showers, trying to resist the urge to jerk off, but he’s never been embarrassed about his needs and he’s never denied himself and hell, why should he start now. He grabs a hold of his cock and starts stroking, up and down, the water slickening every stroke as he remembers what happened two days ago, remembered the feel of Cas’s mouth on him.

The  water is as warm as Cas’s mouth was and he pumps himself a few more times, first slow, then fast, alternating the pressure just like Cas did. He remembers looking down at Cas, digging his fingers into messy hair and seeing those blue, blue eyes looking up at him and they had gotten darker with lust.

Dean grunts, and comes. He leans against the shower, gasping and shuddering as the orgasm tears through him. It’s so intense Dean wonders if he’d actually had proper orgasms all these years he’d been having sex, or if they were just half ones, ‘cause these last two beat the hell out of all the others for mind-blowing pleasure.

When he remembers where he is, he turns off the water and gets out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He brushes his teeth, shaves and dries himself. Then it’s back into his hospital gown and back to his bed. Dragging out the bag Sam had bought him, he pulls the privacy curtain and dresses quickly, layering boxers, jeans, t-shirt, plaid and jacket in quick movements, then bending down to put on socks and boots.

Now it’s just a question of waiting and Dean’s never been good at that. Waiting gives him too much time to think and that’s usually something that leads to him either drinking or shooting something. If he had Cas’s number, there’d be a third option, but he doesn’t so…

He gives up on thinking and begins pacing, tracing his steps back and forth past the two empty beds and trying not to think about Cas and the sex and the orgasms and…yeah, this ain’t working.

He’s saved from his own annoying thoughts by the arrival of Sam.

“Hey, Dean. Ready to get out of here?”

“Oh, hell, yeah, Sammy.”

He grabbed the bag from off the bed, threw it over his shoulder and followed Sam out the door, so frickin’ happy to be out of the room. Has he mentioned he hates hospitals?

Doctor Valentine comes to the nurses station to sign his discharge papers. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t see you again.”

Dean winks and gives her his best flirty smile, “Well, doc, I hope I do, but under better circumstances. I’d love to meet your wife.”

She laughs and says, “Goodbye, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

He watches her walk away, because hey, he might have _feelings_ for Cas, but that doesn't make him blind. She was one fine lady. Sam, however, has to bitch.

“Dean, I hope you can keep your flirting to a minimum. I don’t think Cas would appreciate it.”

“Dude, I was being friendly. She’s married and she’s a lesbian.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam rolls his eyes and, yeah, that was his sceptical sarcastic voice right there.

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Whatever, Dean.”

“Anyway,” Dean argues as they leave the hospital, “I don’t know how to contract Cas, he didn’t leave me his number like he said and I don’t even know his last name. How am I supposed to find him?”

“My last name is Novak,” a familiar voice interrupts.

Dean turns on Sam, whose grinning all over his bitch face.

“You fucker!” Because, yup, his brother is officially awesome. Not only is his baby waiting at the curb, her shiny black paint gleaming and not a dent to be seen, but there was Cas, trench coat and all, leaning up against the hood and smiling at him.

“Cas!”

And, if Dean’s eyes (and nose) weren’t deceiving him, Cas was holding an apple pie.

“I lied, Cas.”

Cas’s face falls, but Dean continues, “You, pie and my baby are the best things in the world. Fuck ‘Star Wars’.”

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, as I said at the beginning, this is my first fic in a while and it's nearly midnight and I have to get up in 7 hours to take my boys to school but I really wanted to get this up. I will probably repost sometime in the future because I find taking a break and coming back to a story allows me to view it with more objectivity and find mistakes and make changes. 
> 
> I think I lose Dean's voice a couple of times, but I really tried hard to keep the characters in character, so here's hoping I mostly succeeded.
> 
> Concrit is always welcome, but please be polite and respectful. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the story!


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